Happy Endings
by littledarkangelhippie
Summary: Nothing ever does end up the way we expect them to. (Eren x Mikasa) AU


**A.N.****: I am so sorry. I just.**

**I got a request for this on another website, but I didn't want to leave you guys out, so. **

**Disclaimer****: I do not own **_**Shingeki no Kyojin**_**. **

The wind whips around her, skittering yellowed leaves across the ground. She watches them catch between jutting roots and wayward stones, blinking very slowly. The sound of crunching distracts her for a moment, the smell of pine and oak clouding up around her thickly. It isn't until he's tugging at her scarf that she realizes he's moved from his place at all, where he'd been inspecting a trail of hoof prints on the ground. His fingers pinch the edges at the top, pulling it over her nose, sliding his hands down to tuck the ends under the lapels of her coat. He straightens out the creases until he's certain it won't fall out of place, and then takes a step back from her.

His eyes flick up to meet hers, a burning brilliant green that reflects back the hues of autumn surrounding them, and he furrows his brow promptly. "Come on," he murmurs, holding out his hand almost impatiently. "We have to catch dinner before it gets too dark." She places her palm over his without hesitation, letting him guide her off the path to follow the tracks left behind. She lets her mind memorize the way her pale skin contrasts his warmer hue, how his fingers seem to burn around hers.

She focuses on that.

Another breeze twists between their legs and snaps her hair across her face. "Maybe I should've cut my hair shorter," she mumbles when he glances back at her quickly, eyes tight with some form of concern she picks out carefully from whatever else she can't read.

"No," he says, and reaches with his free hand to untangle her bangs from her lashes, tucking them behind her ear. "Any shorter, you'd look strange."

She thinks this must be his way of complimenting her somehow.

It's another hour before he admits defeat. They've been circling the same section of trees over and over—she can see their own footprints beginning to mark the dirt gradually—and he seems to be getting frustrated. "One of the others might've gotten it," she offers, squeezing his hand gently. He looks down at their clasped fingers, as if contemplating something. When his grip begins to loosen, she holds fast. "We shouldn't give up. We can gather some herbs to make the food taste better."

He meets her gaze evenly, and she wonders for a moment if he knows what she's doing—Eren isn't as ignorant as most claim, after all, and she knows this better than anyone—but then he nods determinedly and steers her toward a brush he recalls from a few paces back looking a lot like rosemary. Never letting go of her hand, he kneels to pluck a sprig from a branch, bringing it up to smell for a brief second. "Do you have something to carry this in?" he asks, twisting the twig between his fingers idly. "Maybe Hanji can use this for something later..."

She hurries to pull a small sack from her pocket, holding it out for him to fill. He only picks a few more sprigs before standing back up, using her grip as leverage. "I saw some mint back there," she says, nodding over her shoulder. "I can—"

"We can," he corrects, and then tugs her in the direction she pointed. She presses her scarf closer to her nose, lowering her gaze to watch his boots leave prints behind him. "Only a few leaves, right? Too many takes away from the flavor for me."

"Just a few," she agrees. Blinks, and then adds, "I hoped to get some more for a cup of tea later..." She isn't sure why she says this, but his eyes snap to hers suddenly and his lips press into a tight line.

He pauses for a second, brows pulling together slowly. "...Maybe I should just take the whole thing, then." For a moment, she thinks he's kidding, but then remembers Eren isn't much of a joker in the first place. And when he stoops to wrap his entire hand around the base of the plant, she realizes he's completely serious.

"Eren," she discourages, "don't do that. I only need a few leaves at most anyway."

He turns a vaguely disappointed expression to her before letting go and picking some leaves instead. He does, she notes, pick more than they could ever possibly use or need.

Overdoing it, as he always seems to these days.

"Alright," he sighs, straightening to his full height. "Let's go back. They must be getting things ready over there."

Instead of immediately turning them around and heading off in the direction of the gathering place like he usually might've, he only moves his gaze back over to her, waiting. His palm feels a little sweaty now. She manages a small smile. "Let's go, then."

He blinks, as if pulled from some train of thought, and then nods, once, eyes burning with intensity and purpose. "Right."

He hesitates, for a split second, and then fixes the ends of her scarf back under her lapels until he's satisfied. Then he turns and leads her back onto the path and down toward the gathering.

When she squeezes his hand this time, he squeezes right back.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"I can brew the tea myself," she protests mildly from the bed. The blankets are tucked tight around her, and pillows are fluffed up to support her back needlessly. She hides a smile behind her hand as he pours the steaming water from the kettle into the teacup, hands almost trembling and expression carved into one of utter concentration.

"I got this," he mutters, setting aside the kettle and stirring with a small spoon. He pauses briefly, and she catches the uncertain look on his face before he can hide it.

"I like honey in mine," she hints, settling back into the pillows. There's a book open in her lap, but she doesn't read it. She's read this novel half a dozen times but she won't tell him that. He's trying hard enough as it is, she doesn't expect him to remember everything. Any acts to ease the pressure on him are for naught—she made a stack on her nightstand of the books she's yet to read and a stack on the floor she already has; he confused them once again in his hurry to get her comfortable—but she smiles at his little blunders anyway.

They're so unlike him it's endearing.

"Right," he says, waving her off. She can see the look of relief on his face as he reaches for the jar of honey. "Right," he repeats, adding a teaspoon and a half; just the way he knows she likes it. Quietly, as if he doesn't want her to hear, he mumbles, "There, see, that wasn't so bad..." He carries the teacup to her carefully, leaning over her to grab a pillow from his side for her to use as cushion on her lap. When he removes the book from her lap, he examines it closely. "You read this already..."

She only smiles around her sip.

The mattress sinks under his weight as he sits down beside her. "How about a happy story this time?" he asks, pulling open her drawer and pulling a thinner, smaller book than her usual preference and holding it up for her to see. His eyes gleam bright and the edges of his lips are turned up just a little. "The one with the bear, you know?"

She swallows slow, sighs as warmth spreads through her system. "It would be appropriate," she says, and then holds up her cup. "Honey."

His smile widens a little. He opens the book and flips a few pages. "Where were we at last time? I can't remember..."

She shrugs, holding her cup with both hands. "Start from the beginning. The story is boring if we start in the middle."

He shoots a small glare at her. "It's not," he disagrees almost childishly.

She takes another sip, gives another shrug. "Start again."

He sighs and flips back to the beginning, flattening the pages with his fingers. "Once upon a time..." he begins, and his lips slowly curl up as he lets himself fall into the drawl of the story.

She finishes her tea just as he flips the last page, and he takes the cup from her to place on the furthest edge of her nightstand. "That was good," she praises, licking her lips.

He furrows his brow, sliding the book back into the drawer. "The tea or the story? You're not being clear here."

"Both," she says. "You put more effort into it."

The creases in his forehead deepen. "The tea or the story?" he asks again.

She laughs quietly.

He helps her slide down further into the bed, pulling the sheets up to her shoulders and tucking them back under her sides. His hands flutter over her quickly, indecisive over what to do.

She blinks up at him when he straightens and looks at her. His eyes are tight with worry again. "You should say goodnight," she suggests.

His brows pull together, and then he slowly lowers himself down to his knees by the bed, leaning over her once more. She closes her eyes when his ear rests gently over her stomach, breathing deeply. It is a few long, silent moments before he speaks again. "Goodnight," he murmurs softly, almost a breath of a statement, and he presses a kiss at the center, over her bellybutton, and pulls away to stand.

He notes the sleepy look in her dark eyes, and pulls the blankets up toward her chin.

"You should go to sleep, too. They're planning something big for you tomorrow."

She yawns. "Alright, Eren. Goodnight."

"Night."

He flicks off the light.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"Whoa, you're about to burst!" Sasha exclaims, appearing beside Mikasa the moment they step foot in the house. Eren ushers her away, shutting the door behind them and helping Mikasa into the kitchen. Sasha runs ahead of them, dancing around Annie where she's setting down a platter of baked buns on the counter; she steals from the tray before the blonde can say a word in edgewise, spinning out of the way when a wooden spoon swings out to hit her on the head.

"How many months now?" Annie inquires, giving up on pursuing Sasha.

"Left? One, I believe," Mikasa replies, sitting down in the chair Eren has pulled out for her. "Smells delicious. Can I have one?" Eren grabs a bun from the tray before Annie can respond and hands it to Mikasa.

Annie levels a glare at him. "Yes. Yes, you can," she says surly.

Mikasa smiles. "He spoils me."

"I'm only being helpful," he objects, drawing back toward the wall and crossing his arms tightly.

"Does it kick a lot?" Annie continues to ask, moving on to transfer the buns onto a ceramic plate.

She shakes her head. "Very calm lately. Hardly gives me trouble."

"What are you hoping on?"

"A girl," Mikasa says, taking a bite out of the bun. "I'm feeling lucky about it."

"She'll be huge," Hanji interjects, entering from the living room. She grins when they all look at her. "Come outside. We're all waiting," she coaxes them both, and then turns to Annie. "Ready yet?"

She holds up the plate. "We're missing a couple," she mutters, "but yes. Just about."

They all follow Hanji out through the living room and through the backdoor, Mikasa holding onto Eren's arm for support. It's bright outside, and the backyard is a wide open space of deep green grass and sparse trees and plentiful flower gardens. There are tables set up with pink and blue tissue paper sheets and multiple plates of food out for the taking. A few of the men are gathered around the grill to watch the meat cook and some of the women are conversing with one another over their drinks. When they catch sight of Mikasa and Eren, they all shout in greeting, breaking into warm grins.

Some women and a few men roll around her with hugs and gentle pats on her shoulders, and the occasional, timid, "Can I touch your belly?" She smiles and nods and laughs when they react with astonishment at the unexpectedly hard surface of it. She even catches Eren melting under the attention.

"Sit down," Armin urges, and pulls out a chair at the head of the table for her. "We kept your food warm for you."

Eren helps her across the grass and into the chair, and plops himself down in the chair beside her; even drags himself a little closer to take her hand again.

"Spoiling her," Annie sighs, placing another bun at the edge of Mikasa's plate. "You're gonna regret doing that."

"Why?" he demands. "I have a right to do this if I want."

"I'm not denying that," Annie mutters, straightening up and taking a hold of the plate in both hands again.

Bertholdt approaches from behind her with a bowl of fruit salad, smiling benignly. "Imagine by the third baby," he says kindly, serving Mikasa a small helping of the fruit; she immediately begins to eat it. "You'll be exhausted."

Eren blushes madly, and Mikasa manages to hide her face behind her hair. "Aren't you thinking ahead a little?"

Annie shrugs flippantly. "We're allowed to. She's already having her first anyway."

Hanji claps her hands from across the table loudly. "Come on, already!" she shouts over Levi's head. "Let's eat, I'm starving! Annie, come over here, I want some of those buns!" She sits down for a split second, letting Levi relax, and then shoots back up to yell, "And some fruit—Bert, that looks really good!"

"It's _just fruit_, damn it," Reiner complained from his place at the grill. "At least Sasha brought mashed potatoes."

Mikasa laughs very lightly. "Tastes better than your hamburgers."

"You can't even eat—Eren, I swear if she wasn't pregnant I would punch her."

"You wouldn't lay a finger on her," Eren mutters, and Mikasa feels his thumb stroke over her knuckles gently.

"Yes, I would," he grumbles.

"She would snap you in half, shut up," Levi says, and then steals some of Hanji's casserole.

Mikasa places a hand over her stomach tenderly. "Did it kick?" Eren asks quietly.

"It kicked?" Christa asks a little too loudly.

"I wanna feel!" Sasha shouts.

A dozen hands reach all at once to rub her stomach, nearly shoving Eren away.

Annie's blue eyes meet hers over a few shoulders, her tray all but empty now—more so when Ymir slips past to take another bun—and she raises her thin blonde brows at her, almost sympathetically. "One more month of this crap," Annie calls over the chatter.

Mikasa smiles.

In all honesty, she doesn't really want it to end. Not when those too-warm fingers are wrapped up all around hers.

~~...~~X~~...~~

It comes very suddenly.

She's reaching up to grab a plate from the second shelf when something jerks inside of her, pain shooting up and down her spine. She falls to the ground and only _just_ feels the wet trickle down her thighs. Her voice erupts, suddenly, shouting for him desperately.

_God, I've never done this before_, her mind shrieks. _I'm so scared. God, Eren_.

He appears beside her almost instantly, shards of glass crunching under his feet—the plate had fallen from her hands, it seems—and he pulls her arm over his shoulder to move her to the nearest chair. He runs to their bedroom for their supplies, has to shove in a few new things because _this isn't supposed to happen for another month, why now_? He swings the bag over his shoulder and pulls her up to stand again, half-carrying her outside into the afternoon light.

The story paints itself there: Their baby girl born (a little too early, sure) on a warm autumn evening. It seems almost appropriate. The sun is orange in the sky and the sky itself is painted all sorts of pinks and purples and a curious hue of blue that almost reminds her of his eyes except for the shadows in it. _His _are so much more beautiful.

She thanks her lucky stars Armin lives so nearby, and he helps her into the back of his much more spacious car and nearly breaks all kinds of street laws trying to get them to the only hospital in their small town.

It's all hurried from there. Armin runs off to call their friends in, she's rushed into the maternity ward, Eren is bombarded with questions regarding her state of health. She's being stripped of her clothes and redressed in some thin sheet of a gown. A burly nurse lifts her carefully onto the bed and she's quickly guided through the proper steps to ease her into labor smoothly. She searches out Eren amongst the scrambling nurses and doesn't have too look far before his hand is wrapping around hers and he's directing his entire attention to her.

"Eren," she manages to say around her stifled grunts of pain. "Eren, she's not—she shouldn't be—"

He pets down her hair, untangles her bangs from her lashes and tucks them behind her ears. He presses a kiss to her forehead, gently, and says, "It's alright. We're alright."

She can't smile, but she tries to.

The doctor storms in with a flurry of blue scrubs and snipped tones. He snaps out orders to the nurses and tugs on gloves all in one breath. He sits down in a stool at the end of the bed and pulls on a mask over his mouth and nose. "Alright, Ms. Ackerman, let's see where we're at." He guides her legs up into place and checks her briefly. "Looks like we're ready to begin."

A rush of air leaves her. "Already?"

The doctor gives her an empathetic look. "Yes, Ms. Ackerman. You'll be fine. I've done this procedure countless of times with no problem."

"She's early," Mikasa rasps. "She's too early."

He holds up a hand to placate her. "This happens more often than you think, don't worry. You'll be just fine. You're perfectly healthy and I expect this baby to be, too."

His smile comforts her almost as much as the way Eren's fingers lace through hers. "Alright," she says determinedly. "I'm ready."

It isn't like the way they describe it in the movies. The expressions and cries the actresses make don't even _begin _to touch the way she feels right then. She closes her eyes and focuses on the too-hot hand still wrapped around hers, tight and unwavering, tries to level her breaths to his and attempts to picture them—the three of them—all together at the end of this. He'll smile like he does when he has his ear pressed to her stomach, he'll kiss their little girl and wrap her up in soft blankets and read her happy-ending stories about bears and honey and will always remember to add one and a half teaspoons and which stack means which. He'll hold her hand and give her flowers and protect her from everything dangerous in life, and Mikasa wants to laugh because this has to be the greatest thing that has ever happened to her.

His eyes will always shine the way they do when he's happy.

She only wants him to be happy.

Except—there—there are no cries at the end of it. There are no sighs of relief or the well-meaning _congratulations, it's a baby girl_. There are no praises or laughter or sounds of awe. There is only the softly mumbled apology, the painfully honest words of comfort, the looks of pity and sadness etched onto the faces of those around them.

It's only when Eren's grip loosens that she realizes anything is wrong at all.

But then he drops her hand, and she feels everything crash around her in massive heaps heavy enough to shake her world out of place.

His eyes move very slowly to hers, too slowly, and they're _burning—_not brilliant green or shining jewels, but shadowed skies and broken glass—and they reflect back everything at her, all the fear and pain and anxiety she feels and all the uncertainties about anything that's happened; all of it, mirrored back to her.

She's grasps for air, tears pricking her eyes, heart aching—_something's wrong, terribly terribly wrong, God—_

Eren is holding something in his arms, cradling it so gently it breaks her somewhere inside, she can't tell where. It would've been better, she thinks (world crashing down and heart stopping all at once) if they had had the decency to wrap a blanket around it—her,_ her, her, God—_but she lies naked in his strong warm-hued arms, white skin clean and untouched and utterly _untainted _and _real_ she half-expects it—_she, she, she—_to start moving, to start crying, to starting doing _something_.

Nothing happens.

_Nothing happens_.

"E—Eren?" she breathes out, and he's trembling. He's trembling so hard his teeth are gritting in the effort to keep himself still. His eyes are so wide, so blind to her and everything around them except for the infant—_our baby—_cradled against his chest. Air scrapes in and out between his teeth, and when they part even a little, she sees his eyes—such brilliant little jewels—well up with tears. When he begins to blur out of her vision, she realizes she's already weeping. "Eren—Eren—"

He buckles down to his knees at her side, falling forward to rest his arms on the thin mattress. The baby is smaller than she had anticipated. "He—" Eren grits out, "...he...didn't..."

She wipes at her eyes quickly, tries to push herself up enough to look; her baby girl is a baby boy, she sees. Another surprise. This makes her cry harder for some reason she cannot fathom.

Something is tearing at her heart, something terrible, something wrong.

"...wasn't moving..."

The eyes aren't even open, but she imagines they'd be his green, like the sea or the early morning skies. The tiny tuft of hair still drenched is the color of his. She can't breathe.

"...wasn't breathing..."

She covers her eyes with her fists; her throat is becoming sore. Is she screaming now?

"...miscarriage...he's a stillborn..."

"I'm sorry," she sobs. Everything is falling off its axis, quickly, very suddenly. She can't see anymore, but she feels his eyes burning into her. It hadn't even occurred to her that something like this could happen. Everything had been going so well, so perfectly, that this outcome had never even entered her mind at any point in time. This, for some reason, makes it infinitely worse. "I'm so...sorry..."

"...he's beautiful," he whispers, and takes her hand to press her palm over the soft patch of hair on its head. "Looks like you..."

She shakes her head, because the whole situation is absurd and nightmarish and terribly terribly _wrong_. "Stop—please," she begs, and the knives in her heart sink even further, cutting her up from the inside out. She can't breathe for more than a few split seconds at a time and her ribs are on the verge of collapsing. "_God, Eren—_stop—"

"Thomas," he murmurs, wrapping his fingers tight around her hand; he's shaking. "His name could've been Thomas."

"I'm sorry," she says, and tries not to focus on his skin, burning into her flesh—her muscles, her veins, her bones, her very _being—_but his eyes are locked on hers. They swirl with an intensity she does not—will never—understand. "I'm so—it shouldn't have—I just—I—"

He doesn't smile, but his eyes are still warm. He rises up to kiss her at the corner of her lips.

"It's fine."

He squeezes her hand.

"We're fine."

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: I am so sorry.**

**Please review and thanks for reading.**


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